Hate
by Anagramed Lillium
Summary: Spain is still sore over the defeat in 1588, and he feels the need to show England just how much he resents him for the war. That is, until he stops to wonder...why? SpainUK, pre-WWII, Yaoi, so on.


Title: Hate

Rating: M

Warning: Yaoi, Slight Non-con, Hatesex, Yellowish Lime, Abuse

Pairing: Spain/UK, mentions of USUK and Spain/Romano

Word Count: 1360

A/N: Heyyyy, the first Hetalia fic that I've finished! But wow, I'm disturbing. But I was haunting the Hetalia Kink Meme, and found a prompt that made me go, "Hoooomygawd, must writteeeee." (It was also midnight, so my brain wasn't particularly clear...) So, t his is what it turned into, I hope you enjoy it~ (Explanations at the end.)

* * *

It wasn't fair.

It was not fucking _fair_, and as gentle as Spain was, as easy-going as he _could_ be...it still was not fucking fair. England could _not_ just take credit for everything, _especially_ not 1588. Defeating an armada on your own was impressive enough, but to ignore the fact that Spain's navy was the strongest, most powerful force in the known _world_, was beyond aggravating to Antonio. They _had_ been the best, but that storm had come out of nowhere, leaving his armada seriously lacking and giving England the advantage, and _damn_ if he was going to let that slide.

He wasn't sure when it had started, or why he had allowed it to, but he'd just seen Arthur there, looking so _smug_ with that smirk of his, and Antonio had wanted to wipe it off his puto face. He'd shoved him against the wall, ignoring shock and indignation from the Briton, and he'd ripped those frou-frou clothes away.

He'd expected England to fight more, to shove him off, to scream -- but no, he'd pulled him up for rough kisses, with teeth clicking and tongues fighting for dominance constantly. Hands had scratched and bruised, pinched and abused, and when Spain shoved his way inside the other Country, there were gasps of pain, and then a hissed challenge by his ear.

Quick and messy, it was over in moments, and Antonio had cum inside the Briton, determined to _mark_ and humiliate, even if England's own spending was smeared over both their stomachs; he'd obviously enjoyed it just as much, if not more, though Antonio knew Arthur was bleeding in more places than one, covered in hickeys and nasty-looking bruises that were going to stay, for a good long time.

When he'd pulled away, Antonio had actually pressed a kiss to Arthur's forehead, then set him on the floor, carefully enough so as not to cause pain. He'd straightened up, and then, without so much as a glance back, he'd walked off, and left England on the ground, bloodied and covered in bodily fluids.

He'd seen England fairly recently after that, offering him a sweet smile and asking how he was feeling, how his country was doing, and being overall...polite, how one usually expected to see Spain. The marks were fading, and Arthur seemed as ready to pretend that nothing had happened as Antonio was, not at all bothered, it seemed. They were civil to each other once again, and Spain was back to his laid-back, jovial nature, always smiling.

...which was why Antonio couldn't understand why it happened _again_. He wasn't sure why, but months later, alone with Arthur...he'd pressed him against the wall again, ridding him of his clothes and _fucking_ him. It wasn't sex, it wasn't lovemaking, it was _fucking_. Cold, hard, _hateful_ fucking. It was like Antonio was trying to draw his victories from England's body, sucking every bit of satisfaction he could from the man's lips.

He'd left him in the same state as before, and even when they saw each other again, it was back to normal, like nothing ever happened. But it _continued_ to occur, over and over, and Antonio never understood _why_ he felt so compelled to hurt Arthur, to pinch and bruise and rip, to hear those whines and whimpers, cries and sobs -- _screams_. Though, it wasn't like Arthur never returned the favor. Antonio may have never allowed himself to be taken and claimed the same way, but he never left without gouges in his shoulders, bites in his neck, his hands, his chest. Forcing Arthur to his knees often had interesting results, particularly bruises in his own hips and nail marks in the backs of his thighs, where England had shown his displeasure. It drew hisses from the Spanish Country, but it only made his hips snap forward roughly, down the other man's throat.

For years this went on, and Spain never knew why -- and he doubted England did, either. It just _did_, even when he had Romano, though it was always few and far between then; Antonio had other priorities, after all, and he wasn't going to abandon Lovino to go fuck Arthur, especially when the Country was young, and he needed someone _there_, as much as the boy would deny it. But after Romano reached adulthood, both England and Spain knew they couldn't continue -- not while Spain was engaged, to be married, and not when England was so close to America...

It was the last time, when they laid together, still panting for breath and fully beginning to process the hurt, where it hid, where it was pulsing from.

"Why?" Antonio murmured by Arthur's ear, his voice softer than it had been moments ago.

"Why what?" the other Country asked hoarsely.

"Why do we do this? Why do we...hurt each other this way?" And now...now Antonio simply sounded tired, old and worn from so many years, so much hate and anger that he'd kept hidden behind smiles, laughter.

"Because," Arthur sighed, pressing his forehead to his friend's shoulder. "Rage festers and spreads."

Spain sighed, hiding his face in the man's blonde hair. They -- _he_ -- needed to let go, he knew that, and he couldn't do this anymore. It didn't just hurt himself, and Arthur, but now...now it would hurt Romano, and he could _not_ do that. "Then I'm going to let go, Inglaterra," he murmured, pulling out of the man and pressing a kiss to each cheek, then to his forehead. "I will not hurt you anymore, nor mi Lovino."

"Good." Sitting up, Arthur sighed and rubbed at his lower back with a soft groan. "I would've had something to say if you intended to continue this...thing even after you were married."

Antonio examined the man's tarnished body, and lowered his head, closing his eyes in shame. "Lo siento, Arthur..."

He felt a hand press into his hair, stroking his dark curls gently.

"You're not a bad man, Antonio. If you were, I might not have let this go on so long."

Antonio's laugh was weak. "Arthur, I have been hurting you for many years. Does that not make me a bad man?"

"Have I ever once made any move to stop you?"

"No, but--"

"Then this was as much my choice, as yours. Fuck guilt, and fuck hate."

Antonio blinked slowly at him, tilting his head slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Don't feel guilty over this, and don't hate me anymore. Or yourself."

"I don't hate--"

"Then what's this been about? Winning a war?" England snorted.

"I do not hate you, Arthur," Antonio sighed. "Maybe...I did once, but not now. It has been much too long since that war, and I have no wish to continue to fight it with you."

England's expression softened, just a bit. "And what about yourself? You can't keep hating yourself."

That drew a laugh from the dark-haired Country. "Arthur, amigo, I have not hated myself in a very long time. I have since my failures had many successes."

"You've had hard times, too."

"Everyone does."

"Yes...true..."

With a soft smile, Antonio tilted England's chin up, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. "Do not look so sad, amigo. Your hard times will pass. Perhaps you should give that Alfred a call, hm?"

Arthur's face flushed a dark red, and he opened and closed his mouth, floundering for a moment, and that only made Antonio laugh. "Do not be sad, Arthur," he said instead. "You have something you want, and it is not me. Y el amor todo lo puede, si?"

* * *

A/N: Well, how was that? The prompt was, "SpainUK, angry hatesex" or something of that ilk, which spawned this. Of course, I didn't feel quite right leaving it JUST AS HATESEX, because...come on, it's Antonio. Antonio is sweet and nice and oblivious...but you know, 1588...goddamnit, Arthur.

But if people didn't understand, the beginning was talking about the English defeat of the Spanish armada, which really...was not as glorious as England made it seem. Here's more information, if you're curious: .org/wiki/Spanish_Armada

As for the Spanish, noooo, I do not speak it, so feel free to correct me. Puto, if I'm not mistaken, can be used as 'fucking', and the last thing Antonio says is "And love will find a way, yes?"

Anyway, reviews are loooove~


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